Objects Are Closer Than They Appear

Side view mirrors aren’t the only scenario where things seem like they’re far away and then appear before you know it. Seems like the higher the number is when I write my age on a form (I don’t feel like I’m 49) the faster time goes by, which makes sense when you think about it.

It stands to reason since any parcel of time is a smaller percentage “less” of my life on earth compared to that parcel of time when I was younger and it was a greater percentage. For instance, when I was a 14 year old kid spending my summers at Forest Lake (a bungalow colony in Hopewell Junction NY) a night – let alone a summer – used to last for a glorious eternity, which made sense because those were 2 out of the 156 months of my life to date, or one 78th or .0126582 - as opposed to this summer which was 2 months out of the 588 or one 294th or .0034013.

At his 80th birthday surprise party, I asked my father-in-law Marty how quickly a year passed for him. He looked me right in the eye “a year is like a blink of an eye”, he said as he blinked – which went by very quickly.

This is Sports (I mean) Vote Center! Da da dat. Da da Dat!

Is it me or has the presidential election replaced everything sports related (except college basketball for me) this winter?

The Knicks sucking is old news, the Nets are moving to Brooklyn and are shopping Kidd, and I gave up hockey when all the players started wearing helmets with Plexiglas covering their face and took the vowels out of their names. Nothing against eastern Europeans, I just don’t know any of them as personalities, and I never froze water in my backyard to skate on in Queens.

So what’s a guy to do? Follow all the cable network producers on stations with political content who’ve lifted the format we’ve gotten conditioned to from ESPN. They've applied these lessons learned to deliver compelling pollitical programming that keeps our demographic engaged so they can up their advertising rate cards and trade in those medicated Gold Bond commercials for Lexus ads.

Don’t buy it? We’ve got:
- Former Sports Center anchors covering politics now (Keith Olbermann, who tells me when Obama is El Fuego).
- Former pros - politicians in this case (Joe Scarborough)discussing the significance of candidate intangibles
- Campaigns that are under or over the cap ($4,600 donation per candidate in politics vs. $x million per team in the pros)
- Off the field activities (did they shake hands before the State of the Union address)

The only thing I’m missing is a Jaws* type analyst who’ll tactically break down the candidates issue by issue so I know who the hell to vote for when they both start to race towards the middle during the playoffs... I mean general election. But that’s a whole new season, meanwhile we’ve got a couple of intradivision rivalries to watch, and who knows, maybe a wild card race, though Chris Matthews says that politics "is the only sport where the playoffs come first, and then the season".

* Ron Jaworski

6:18:40

I finished the 2007 NYC Marathon in 6:18:40 with my partner in crime Steve Gross. He suffered terrible cramping for the last 10 miles, and it was amazing that he was able to finish at all (don't think I could of if it was me)! Highlights included:

- Pre marathon minyan with 50 Jews from all over the world (Argentina, England, France, Italy, Teaneck...) picture $150 running shoes, sweats, tallis and tefillin outside in 47 degrees and morning light. 25th annual, with next year's falling on the anniversary of Fred Lebow's passing. Intensly moving...

- Standing on the Verrazano 50 yards from the top male Marathoners in the world Martin Lel, Hendrick Ramaala, Rodgers Ropp, (previous NY Marathon winners - the all-stars of their sport), Stefano Baldini (Olymic Gold) as they warm up, 8 helicopters swirling overhead, firetruck in the harbor spraying Orange, Blue & White (marathon colors), moment of silence for Ryan Shay (died from a heart attack the day before in the Olympic trials in Central Park on Saturday), singing the National Anthem amongst a crowd of 38,000 (half from out of the U.S., 46% running their first marathon, taking countless pictures of friends on their cameras prior to the race)...

- Cannon shot for the start, then 26.2 miles / 6:21 hrs./min. of people constantly cheering your name (cause it's written on the front of your shirt). Running to the sidelines and sticking your hand out to hi-five the crowd (at any point in the race) - and they get excited that you touched them - like you're a rock star! Speaking of...100 garage bands (one every 1/3rd of a mile) crankin out every song about moving that's ever been written (Going Mobile, Keep on Truckin. Rockin Down the Highway...) Images of old ladies dancing with canes to some funk in Harlem - shimmying for me with toothless grins, a dozen Hassidic girls in beautiful wool coats huddled together with their young mothers in Sheydels (wigs) in front of them - looking at us like we're from Mars - while their husbands with Peyis (bannana curls) in black vest and rolled up sleeves hold out bottles of Poland Spring for us....

- making a right on Columbus Circle, the last 400 yards, running a slight uphill, stadium seating on either side, the PA announcer Ian Brooks (who does all NYRR races - the Bob Sheppard of NY Road Runners, and has recovered from a near fatal accident in March) giving the play by play, the crowd and music roaring, and you realize that YOU DID IT, that indescribable rush of adulation, you scream out at the top of your lungs and pump your fists, cause that's the only acceptable/appropriate response - like when you're on a rollercoaster...

and then it's over. A 60 year old cheerleader greats you with a a beautiful sincere smile and a medal, you bow your head like you're on the podium as she places it on you, while someone else drapes you with a Tyvek blanket as you try to retain your heat, but as you walk up the west side path of the park and get handed a goody bag with a Powerbar, Gatorade (as if you haven't had enough of that shit for the last 6 hours ;-) apple and bagel, to find the 1 out or 74 UPS trucks that has your clear plastic bag with your sweatshirt/pants) you get cool, cold, colder, then walk out of the park to meet your family that you saw at miles 9, 16, and 1/2 a mile from the finish - but feel like you haven't seen in days - because you kinda feel like you're a different person, and you kinda of are, because you've accomplished something that most people don't, won't (want to) do, and more often than not can't understand why you did.

So that's it, aside from lifecycle rites of passage, I've never done anything that's more fufilling, so yes I'll do one again although not for a couple of years - kinda like childbirth, I'd guess - hopefully with Spence (speaking of childbirth), and anyone else who wants to saddle up. If all this sounds kinda crazy - go watch it next year live - and you'll understand.

Supe XLII Prediction: Pats 31 Gints 30

Heard a great interview with Giants retired GM Ernie Accorsi on NFL Sunday this this morning (1.27.07) with Francesa. Accorsi made a helluva lotta sense as follows:

- As great as the Pats are, they really don't have as many Hall of Famers who are career Patriots (what name rolls off the tongue aside from Brady?) as other legendary franchises (i.e., The Pack, Steel Curtain). Says a lot about how the league has changed vis a vis free agency, and how Belichick has adapted to it.

- Giants D-line has to rattle Brady to have a shot. The Chargers did a bit and it rattled him into 3 picks, as opposed to the week before against the Jags when he went untouched and was 26 out of 28 (with a drop by Welker).

- Giants O-line has to protect Eli so he can hit the quick openers and quick outs that are the Pats defensive weakness due to their aging backers. This'll set up the one (Jacobs) two (Bradshaw) punch.

I say that based on "familiarity breeding contempt" the Giants show up and give us a game, which is all you can ask for against the greatest single season machine - I mean team, of all time.

Marty Breslau

From birth to age 17, I was blessed with my biological father, Sheldon Fertig. For the last 21½ years, my father-in-law Martin Breslau gave me the privilege of calling him Dad. While I am my father’s son physically, much of the qualities that have shaped me and that I aspire to as a man, as a husband, father, businessman and hopefully as a mensch, I’ve gotten from spending time with, and observing Marty.

Since the first time we met (along with Carol and Rita) on our 3^rd date at One Station Plaza on Bell Blvd. in Queens, I felt we were kindred spirits based on 3 commonalities. Marty:

- Also lost his father suddenly at a young age (14 1/2)
- Also was a teacher right out of college in NYC Public Schools
- Also left Education to go into business

Prior to meeting Marty, my perception of salesmen was that after you shook their hand, you had to count and make sure you still had 5 fingers. I thought great salesmen were flashy dressers who told great one-liners and anything else you wanted to hear to get you to say yes.

Marty was a consummate salesman, was the antithesis of what I just described. He was a great listener, and a gifted observer of human nature. When you were talking with Marty it felt like you were the only person in the room. And that, as Carol says, made you feel loved. He showed me that it was possible to make a living in sales and still be a very decent human being.

He was also the best business advisor I could have ever asked for. I spent countless hours receiving advice regarding both external clients and internal management scenarios. But instead of telling me what to say in a given situation, Marty strove to understand the dynamics and personalities of the situation, and would patiently walk me through deducing the appropriate actions, which often (especially at first) took a left turn compared to what I (or Carol) would have done without his advice. Instead of giving me a fish, he taught me how to fish.

In terms of business scenarios, Marty especially enjoyed a good negotiation or “handel” in Yiddish. For instance, after we bought the townhouse in New Jersey, I’ll never forget the time I had the pleasure of introducing Carol and Marty to a salesman at a P.C. Richards on Bell and Northern, and then stepped back to watch the action. Long story short, we walked out of there an hour later, with both that poor sales rep and his store manager running after Marty, Carol and I as we walked to the car without closing the deal. Needless to say, they ate the tax (among other things).

Speaking of salesmen, Marty owned a furniture store - Empire Furniture (which was located originally in the East New York section of Brooklyn, and then on Neptune Avenue in Sheepshead Bay. He was brought into the business by his father-in-law Phil, and they were in business for years until Marty eventually took over. And then a number of years later they became part of the JGE conglomerate in the mid 70s when they grew too big too fast) and he was surrounded by a bevy of Runyonesque salesmen to his Andy Warhol that have provided no end of classic stories that Marty would relish in telling over and over and over again, to the point where you would recite them internally and just hang on his classic delivery.

You knew you were in for a gem when his eyes lit up like a little kid getting his favorite holiday gift – even at the age of 84. He would start with the classic “Say, did I ever tell you about”, or “We had a salesman, Irving Pugash….” and it was off to the races. My two all-time favorites were:

Irving Pugash was a furniture salesman/former golden gloves boxer who worked at Empire on Sundays because furniture stores in New Jersey were closed on Sundays due to the “blue laws”. Irving would introduce his customers to Marty (whom he would call “The Chief”) and if he couldn’t close them and they would be coming back during the week – Irving would get credit for the sale instead of one of the other reps during the week. After a while, Irving didn’t even try to close them, he just pushed as many to Marty as he could and tried to play a volume game with Marty doing all the heavy lifting. Pretty soon Marty had had enough, and shut Irving down in classic fashion:

“ Mr. & Mrs. Goldstein, I’d like you to meet the Chief, Marty, the Goldsteins are interested in a Spanish Provincial bedroom set, and are going to come by during the week to put down their deposit.”

“Really? That’s great. Tell me, Mr. & Mrs. Goldstein, do you know who Irving is? He’s actually a professional boxer who works for us on the side. You say you don’t recognize him? Irving, do me a favor would you? Why don’t you lie down so the Goldsteins can recognize you?:

Abe Levinson was a stately older gentleman that would handle disgruntled customers who came into the showroom to complain about a delivery, or shoddy workmanship. They would start by yelling at Abe who would let them go on for a few minutes, then stop them by saying excurse me in his gentle voice, reach into his pocket, take out a pill case, and put a pill under his tongue (people prone to heart attacks often put nitroglycerine pills under their tongues to prevent heart attacks when they were in stressful situations). The customers would feel so embarrassed and ashamed that Abe often was able to step them up from cloth material to leather!

Marty was also intensely loyal to his family. He always glowed with the eyes of a kid when he spike about his dad – what a good dancer he was, the life of the party. Or his beautiful moon Fannie, or his Aunts, especially Rose who got a job at a Coal distributor as a bookkeeper (with no background in bookkeeping) and then got everyone in the family jobs that needed them.

But as you can imagine, most of his focus was on Rita and his kids. Suffice it to say that until Rita’s last day – he would roll over hoping to see her, always happy to just be in her presence, For a recount of his fabled life with Rita, please see her biography and/or listen to the story of their courtship available on CD for $10 outside following the eulogy;-)

As an example of his devotion to his family, he would love to go food shopping !!??? When he and Rita would visit, He’d go with Carol on Sunday mornings, it would be their time together. When the boys came down to Florida he would take them to the bakery for Black & Whites. And using the vehicle of these errands they would talk like there was no one else in the world.

Marty never missed anything in Carol’s life, he was always there for everything. And he (and Rita) loved having Carol’s friends in the house, and was always very generous to them.

And Marty was not only generous to his immediate family, In the ‘70s, a cousin in Philadelphia had read in a local paper that a family from Russia – I believe the Ukraine, was searching for a Fannie Breslau. In those days you needed to be sponsored by American citizens, so the cousin contacted Marty, who having no prior relationship with these cousins, assisted in securing their passage over a matter of years into the US. Felix, husband of Marty’s cousin Mary, a learned engineer and teacher, who speaks a number of languages fluently, has a thirst for knowledge, which was represented by the 150 boxes of hardcover books that he had, and that he shipped 1 by 1 to the United States, and that were picked up, on a weekly basis by Marty, and stored in Grandma Gerts’s basement, Felix, Mary, their son Vladimir (who made a home and a lie in Brighton Beach – little Odessa>, now married with a young son is a VP of IT at a financial services firm in NYC), Mary’s brother Pavel, his wife Natasha, and Mary’s mother (who has since departed). To this day, every time we see them, they give us the warmest affection, and I have to believe that a large part of that is the gratitude they still feel for Marty’s actions, 30 years ago.

Marty not only cared for his extended family but for strangers as well. Do any of you know Rich Schaeffer? He always called Marty the gumshoe. Marty got this nickname by utilizing his keen judge of human nature to secure a confession that solved a murder case within 12 hours of the crime being committed,

In the 80s Marty was store manager for Seaman’s Furniture at a store on Long Island n Smithtown. One Sunday morning before he came in he heard a story on the news about a 12 year old girl that was just raped, killed, and found in a dumpster in Smithtown. When Marty got to the store he found that it was still closed, which was unusual as the Janitor was usually there early in the morning to clean it before opening. When he finally ended up coming in a half hour later looking disheveled, with scratches all over his arms, Marty asked him if there was anything he wanted to tell him. At first the porter declined the invitation, but in Marty’s even keel, he suggested that whatever occurred, the porter would be best served by coming in to Marty’s office, sitting down for a few minutes, and composing himself, as he seemed distressed. He acquiesced and told Marty in confidence that he was nervous that the police at the investigation down the road might consider him a suspect. Marty reassured the man that if he had nothing to be worried about, he would be best served going to the police proactively and telling them this. The man couldn’t refute Marty’s logic and Marty escorted him over to the policemen down the road, and the rest was on the 6 and 11 o’clock news that night, making all the affiliate channels in town.

After hearing this story, Marty and Rita proceeded to run the VHS tape of the news broadcasts, the most notable being Chris Borgen from CBS’s interview. After the news stories that night, we started talking and the tape kept running, and this funny thing we called life, connected Marty and me again in a way no one can predict, it sometimes does. It was Channel 5 and the next show on Sunday night at 11 was the David Suskind Show (for anyone that remembers it), and David’s guest that night happened to be Reuben Mattus, creator of Haagen-Dazs ice cream, and family friend of the Fertigs. My father swept up for Reuben at his warehouse in the 50s when he was concocting the brand and he had the New Jersey route for Haagen-Dazs in the late 60s (before status brands caught on and people were willing to spend $1.75 - at the time for a pint of ice cream), and my mother was Rose Mattus’ gal Friday/bookkeeper after she sold our floor supply store.

Whenever I would reference my dad in front of Marty, he would always comment on how he regretted not being able to meet my dad, that he’s sure he was a helluva guy. Well, I take comfort in believing that there spirits have had the opportunity to meet now.

The Crusaders - Blue Note - NYC - 1.11. 07

Classic NYC nite. Joined by Stan Goodman, we sat next to a big bald guy and his partner and 2 members of Blood Sweat & Tears.

The Lineup: Joe Sample/Keys, Wilton Felder/Sax, Ray Parker Jr./Guitar, Steve Gadd/Drums, Joe Sample Jr./Bass, some Dutch guy/Trombone

The Set included Free as the Wind, Creepin, A Ballad for Joe, The Territory, So Far Away, and Put It Where You Want It

Marvin Belkin

Marvin was as close as I’ve come to a dazzling urbanite, which I define as:
- Preferring to live in NYC without a car
- Exhibiting great joy from NYC's gastronomical pleasures – Zabar's, Chinatown, a bagel & a shmear.
- Attending opening night at the MET wearing a Tux and white satin scarf – and pulling it off!

He was a character in the best sense of the word. Tall and lanky – the body of a NY Jewish Basketball player from the 50s, married to my cousin Gaye (who was 15 yrs. his junior (she was barely legal when they met - how do guys pull that off!) they were Marvin Gaye. With their ceremony on top of the Southgate Hotel, across from the Metropolitan Museum of Art on 5th and 81st, my image of them is their rooftop wedding picture, above the city, Marvin in his tux.

A testament to Marvin the man, vs. Marvin the dazzling urbanite, was that both of his wives (Amy and Gaye) attended and spoke at his graveside funeral, as did Jeffrey (son/clone) and business associate Elisa. They all painted eloquent pictures in fine detail, of a man I described above in broad brushstrokes. It was a terribly beautiful service.

A classic - 15 minutes after walking into the grief and stricken house, Aunt Marilyn gave me and Fran-Ellen a tour of it.

McGuire's No Brainer

Message to Mark. Apologize. According to reports the only golfer who'll play with you in your gated community in Southern California is OJ ( if he can find golf gloves that fit him).

America's culture is very forgiving. Everyone with a media presence is required to reinvent themselves (lets face it they are products) each decade - so it's time for the new, improved Mark McGuire - with no transfat, I mean steroids. It's no big deal.

In fact, think about those remaining hard core steroid using teenagers who can't get off the cream. They'll listen to you - if you look right into the camera and say you're sorry, and tell us why you did what you did (it wasn't banned when you started, once you were in the thick of it you didn't have the balls - no pun intended* to stop, and when you got in front of the committee you just froze, like Beltran looking at Wainwright's called 3 Sir Charles in game 7 of the NLCS).

Remember, you're not alone, I bet that not only are plenty of guys who are going through the same torment you are, but there's plenty who've come out of it on the other side that will be there to support you. By the looks of you these days you've come clean physically - now its time to come clean emotionally - you'll be the bigger man for it.

* I believe steroid use shrinks your testes - but this is by no means conclusive

Musings

Ever come up with (what you feel is) a great insight into human behavior, observation, or idea? I perceive that this happens to me quite regularly (I know, time for a drug test), and I'm terrified that these thoughts will leave my brain as or more quickly than they've entered, so I've decided to create this blog, and label these particular neuron firings as musings. Here we go....

College Football: the Dawning of December Delerium

Boise State's win over the Sooners of Oklahoma not only goes down as the most exciting college football game ever played (the deciding play was a Statue of Liberty where the QB fakes a pass to one side of the field without the ball in his hand - it's hidden in his other hand behind his back - while a back takes the ball zooms to the other side of the end zone, makes a beeline to the cheerleaders, gets down on one knee, proposes, and the cheerleader accepts and jumps into his arms - you can't make this shit up!),

but it ushers in the era of December Delirium (read March Madness for college football) where the mid majors get their due, are legitimized, and show that "on any given Bowl Day" there are now more than the 15 old guard teams that can beat the brains out of each other.

Removing that objection, coupled with the David vs. Goliath theater that these scenarios provide, will lure enough TV money to get everybody paid, which will enable them to acquiesce to the CFA Playoff movement and get er done.

The good news - we'll have a true national champion. The bad news - if you think bowl game sponsorship names are horrible now.......

The War for your TV screen

Last night I got to watch Apple's war on Home Entertainment in our family room! We've got a TV at one end of the couch (in this corner weighing 35 lbs., at 27 inches, 4 years of age - SONY Wega), and on Carol's desk at the other end of the room (weighing 12 lbs., our Apple G5 in wide screen format).

And now that Jake downloads The Office the day after it's on network television, we can watch TV shows and movies on Carol's screen - it even comes with a remote!

Do you love your job?

I recently met with a VP of Sales for a Background Checking company and this guy loves his job in sales management. He wasn't the most exuberant guy n the world, but relative to his personality, he had that glow (kinda like a pregnant woman glow, for men).

It reminded me of another guy I know, he's a podiatrist who specializes in runners (he is one himself, when he stands sideways you can't see him) and he has that glow too, which leads us to the chicken and egg scenario, do these guys just love life and would they feel this exuberant regardless of what they do, is it in their nature? or did they find their true calling???

Deena Landsberg

To me Deena Landsberg was/will always be Auntie D. And to Auntie D, I was always “Havidle”, or “my favorite nephew”, to which, my first knee-jerk response was always “I bet you say that to all your nephews”, which was countered with either;

a hearty laugh

a “no sonny boy”

or an embellishment on her original compliment

With this as the basis for our conversations, from as far back as I can remember - albeit, that doesn’t account for much these days, I am very warmly biased towards my lovely late Aunt.

Auntie D was bigger than life. Flamboyantly dressed, in one of her “signature” flowing black wigs, with enthusiastic passion in her voice – which provided non-stop candor, who could touch her? I always thought she should have been a chanteuse at the Village Voice, Blue Note, or Sweet Basil’s.

Of course I assume there was another side to Deena, a side that I never asked about, which was/is none of my business, but which I always wondered about, and inspired by her candor I mention it here.

Here was a woman who, along with her husband had so much passion for life, yet, at least in later years, it didn’t seem like that passion was shared – at least not publicly. This made her passion, her “joie de vive”, all the more impressive.

When I think of Deenie now, she’s up there holding court with her family and friends, and with Julie, looking down with nachas, unchained from any physical and social constraints that limited her/them and their relationship, just waiting for the next time her sons/my cousins Norman and Joel perform, or better yet - play together, looking forward to nudging the rest of their gang in the ribs grinning, “that’s my Normie, that’s my Joelie”, and sharing in this extended set for eternity.

My First Time

I'm a regular guy, originally from Hollis, Queens who moved out to Wayne NJ with my wife and two kids, living that suburban dream (the first time my son played in a little league game at night, when they turned on the lights, I swear I heard angels singing that operatic - ahhh! I'm 47 I try to stay in good shape, try to slow down the aging process, run 10-15 mi. a week, work out 2-3 times a week, but eventually, whether you believe in G-D, in a higher power, or if you subscribe to the theory that your body parts can only sustain so much wear and tear, you come to that inevitable intersection on the road of life - the prostate exam.

All I had to do was drop trow. i could leave my sneaks on for a quick getaway, plus there was a window at my feet (who cares if it's a two story drop). So I'm lying fetal, away from the action, 8" from the salmon speckled wall with a 1-ply paper towel separating my most vulnerable orifice from the rest of the world and I can't see anything! I can only hear drawers opening and closing, wheels squeaking as they carry apperatus and small sharp metal objects scrapping against each other. And I'm thinking, if any of these scraping sounds gets really loud and sounds like the Jaws of Death - I'm outta here!

The technician (Bella) was from Eastern Europe and she sounded like Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle so I had some Cold War suspicions and humor didn't translate to ease my fears. For instance when Bella told me she was taking pics of my prostate, I wondered if mine was good-looking, and what was the appropriate make-up? Clear gloss? With some foundation? Just like some people have good looking feet and ears...so she goes up periscope with the camera, and I'm wondering, how can anybody think this feels good?

After it's over and I'm able to get dressed, I gather my dignity and my pants (which is no easy feat as I now have the equivalent of a 2-ply paper towel corn cob in my butt to absorb any 'discharge', and as I walk out of the office I feel like I've been violated, a little ashamed, like one of those guys walking out of those old Times Square peep shows, and the staff feels the same way about me - they don't want to look me in the eye. That's why they take care of payment and your next visit as soon as you arrive - little did I know then why they were being proactive - but they knew - they knew.

Rita Breslau

My memories of Rita Breslau as “Mother-in-Law”.

Of course this denotes a few chuckles for 2 reasons;

potential for mother-in-law jokes (there’ll be a few)

those of you that know Rita – her “directness” (think Kate Hepburn) make this a heady mix

To wit…

Rita was like Jackie Mason in a slip. I asked Rita (and Marty) for Carol’s hand in marriage, and Rita’s reply was, what took you so long!”

In addition to setting her up for a classic one-liner, she used this as a sort of “hazing ritual” – Marilynn and Eric each have their own special welcome to the family moments with Rita, and also – this was her frame of reference – she was engaged after 3 dates/5 days!

Which leads us to another facet that made Rita so special, her relationship with Marty. I’m sitting with Marty, 2 days before Rita passed, looking at Rita, and I said, “ You know Dad, 55+ yrs., you and Mom have had a hell of a run.”. And Marty replied, “I want another day”. In fact her last physical act, 2 days before she passed, when she could do nothing else… Marty would bend over to give her a kiss, and she would still pucker up.

And just as special as their relationship was, so was their love of family. You might have had to earn your stripes to get in the club, but once you were, you were a charter member. After carol and I became legit, Rita called me up one day and asked me if there was any nosh I’d like to have when we came out to Woodbury to do laundry and watch football games on Sunday afternoons. She caught me a little off guard and I said the first thing that popped to mind – “Yodels”.

And from that day till she could shop no more, whenever we visited, in Woodbury or Delray, there was always a box of Yodels. Boo (Blake) would go to snack on them when she visited, but Rita would tell her hands off, those are Howe’s, and regardless of how often we visited, whether it be once a week, or once every six months – she always had fresh dates!!!

Rita also was a real contributor to her community. She was the first president of Temple Hillel in Valley Stream’s Sisterhood. When she went to Delray she was an active participant in her community’s plays. She also was a hospice volunteer – which served her well during the last part of her life.

Till the end, she was just as direct as she was in other aspects f her life, she was put on hospice 2 weeks ago, and here we are today. And she never complained, never lost her sense of humor. About a week and a half before she passed, she was lying in the hospital on a Sunday, hadn’t said a word all day, and a nurse comes up to her in late afternoon and whispers,

“Rita are you comfortable?”

“I make a living.”

Till the end, anyone could tee them up, and she knocked em down.

And what I’m most thankful for that she gave to me, was her daughter. Rita’s directness, her humor, the giving of herself - if you wanted to know what makes my wife tick, all you had to do was spend some time with Rita. She’ll live on thru Carol, and thru those of us, that knew her.

The 10 Greatest Songs You've Never Heard Of

(in no particular order*)

- Funny How Time Slips Away - Al Green / Lyle Lovett

- There Are Many Stops Along the Way - Joe Sample

- Dallas - Steely Dan

- Burning Down the House - Tom Jones

- Sidewinder - Lee Morgan

- Chase the Clouds Away - Chuck Mangone

- Two Trains - Lowell George

- Billy the Mountain - Frank Zappa

- Hatikvah - Eddie Cantor

- Linus & Lucy - Wynton Marsalis

* Inspiried by Scott Taylor & Michael Toben, the two greatest current audiophiles I know

Words to Live By

(at least in my Blog)

- G-d gave you 2 ears and 1 mouth, listen twice as much as you talk
- Leave a place cleaner than you found it
- Give more than you take
- Don't just come to someone with a problem, bring a potential solution
- "Why can't everyone just get along" Rodney King
- Don't offer an unsolicited opinion, people won't listen to it. Just because they heard it, doesn't mean they listened to it
- Yesterday's history, tomorrow's a mystery, today's a gidt - that's why we call it the Present

The GIft of Old Friends...

I'm blessed to count among my friends, five guys that I've been friends with since I'm 5-14 (I can remember picking Hesh up to kiss the Holliswood Jewish Center Mezuzah on the way into Hebrew School - he was a load back then!).

One of the joys of this is that when we're together, we often (whenever possible) revert back to behaving like we did when the FF would call up to our 5th floor apartment by ROARING.

Think about it. Assuming you have fond memories of your childhood, how often can you really feel like you felt when you were reveling in the innocence, the newness of;

- ranking on each others idiosyncratic foibles
- timing your walk through the halls between classes to pass by/say hello to a girl you had a crush on

Things don't look like/as big as they did then, either because they've changed or because you have - for example, the size of your elementary school cafeteria. I certainly don't feel (physically) like I did then, and there are few smells left around that I smelled then (save for the obligatory fresh cut grass and baseball mitt in the spring, chicken soup and brisket during the holidays, the smell of hot wax when Shabbat/Hannukah candles are burning, and I bet - Old Spice aftershave (my dad's).

That's why these moments spent together, this ablity to live in the "present" and live history at the same time, are a precious "gift".

For fans of the K.C. Chiefs & John Coltrane

or Ray Charles, the old AFL in general, Led Zeppelin, the Super Bowl, or the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, you should have been wearing black on 12/15/06 - and not as a fashion statement.

Two true cultural entrepreneurs that were responsible for the shaping of these aforementioned entities of our era passed away over the last 2 days.

Both born from successful families (Hunt was the son of an oil baron, Ertegun the son of the legal couselor to the founder of modern Turkey) they had the balls and vision to create successful entities that have provided millons of people with billions of hours of enjoyment over the last 40 years.

I wonder if they ever spent time together at a Zeppelin concert in Arrowhead stadium?

Coffee stirrers are a waste

Especially in coffee to go. You mean to tell me that pouring the milk and then walking/driving with it doesn't mix it? Or that even if it didn't - you could taste the difference anyway?